Worth a Thousand Words
by kljones4
Summary: Maybe Dr. House had a soft side after all...


Disclaimer: Without Prejudice, The names of all characters contained  
here-in are the property of David Shore and FOX Corporation. No  
Infringments of these copyrights are intended, and are used here  
without permission. This fic is rated FRT due to profanity.

Note: This is my first attempt at fanfiction in about 4 years.  
It's also my first House fanfic. Be gentle!

She walked slowly, quietly, down the paved driveway that ran from the  
back of the hospital's loading dock to the physician's  
parking lot where 83 cars were parked—37 Hondas, 23 Toyotas, 10 Fords, 8  
Oldsmobiles, 4 Nissans, and 1 lonely blue Chevy compact, a 1999  
Cavalier to be precise. She sighed as she walked up to her car,  
regarding the new white scratch on the driver's side door, then  
glared at the white Nissan Altima that was serenely backed into the space  
directly beside hers.

"Dammit", she muttered, quickly fishing for her keys in her  
purse, mentally kicking herself for not having them in her hand as she walked  
up. A hospital was a pretty safe place, but you never knew who could  
be lurking about when the sun went down.

Alison Cameron was a tall woman, but not an especially strong one.  
Sure, she kept herself fit by jogging 3 miles every other day and  
doing Pilates, but she'd always hated lifting weights. She  
realized that she wouldn't be able to hold her own in a fight with anyone,  
even her own sister, who was exactly 3.5 inches shorter than she was. She  
sighed again.

She also realized that she'd been doing that a lot  
lately—sighing. It seemed like every time she went to work these days she'd leave  
feeling physically drained and utterly exhausted. She was starting to hit the  
snooze button in the mornings too. For the last couple of weeks  
she'd barely made it in by 7:30am, on time for most, but 15 minutes late for  
her. Not that any of her coworkers would notice—it was usually  
7:35am for both Foreman and Chase.

She shook her head as she got into the driver's seat. The cloth  
upholstery wasn't nearly as cold as leather would have been. She  
mentally thanked herself for purchasing the low-end model. She  
shivered as she shut the door, surprised that it was still cold even  
at the end of April.

"I hate this state," she muttered; as she struggled to throw  
her purse onto the passenger seat floorboard while simultaneously trying to pull  
the seatbelt over her chest.

She checked her rearview mirror before starting the engine. She  
sighed for a third time that night. Gregory House, MD was slowly  
limping his way toward her car, waving an arm to get her attention.  
She felt like slamming her head into the steering wheel.

"Shit," she growled to herself, irritated at him. She'd  
wished him a Happy Birthday, hoping sincerely that he might crack a smile, or that  
a corner of his eye might twitch upward, indicating some small amount  
of pleasure that someone had taken an interest. Instead, he'd  
sent her on her way with the same sort of sarcastic remark he was always so  
fond of throwing her way.

Oh, she'd smiled as she walked away, for sure, but inwardly she  
wanted to burst into tears, and she didn't even know why. It hurt. It  
hurt a lot that he hadn't cared enough about himself to even  
acknowledge what for most people would have been considered a time to smile at the  
fact that they'd cheated the inevitable for another year.  
She'd never met anyone else who didn't care about himself. What misery.

She'd even gotten a small gift for him—nothing much, just a  
framed photograph of herself, Chase, Foreman, and Dr. Wilson that she'd  
gotten Dr. Lisa Cuddy to take at the December staff meeting.  
She'd even gone to the trouble of matting it herself at the local art  
center, just to give it a personal touch. She'd even bought a  
little card, which, though a little corny, read:

Dr, House,

Thanks for all your dedication. Happy birthday.

Dr. Cameron

The photo lay still wrapped in silver paper with a blue bow inside her  
purse. "Like his eyes," she thought, glancing at it as House  
strode up to the window. She wanted to smack herself for the thought.

"What?" she snapped as she rolled down the window.

"Touchy," he responded, cocking his head slightly as he  
regarded the scratch to the door. "Thought it would be interesting to file  
your fingernails on primer?"

"Get real," she responded softly, drawing his gaze with her  
own. "What's up?" She tried to be civil. She did have to see  
him in the morning for another day of work.

He was quiet for a moment and looked down at his feet, a slightly  
pained expression flitting across his fine features before the mask  
slammed back into place. "My car has a flat tire. Would you mind  
dropping me at my apartment on your way home?"

She knew her mouth must have been hanging open. House? Asking for a  
ride home? With no sarcastic comment in place? She must have died.  
"Excuse me?" she asked.

He frowned, then tapped the back wheel with his cane, placing a hand  
on the top of the car frame to steady himself. "My car…has a  
flat…have you gone deaf or have I suddenly been replaced by some  
puzzling replica of one of your lab specimens?"

Aha, she knew the demeanor couldn't last. "Yeah, all  
right," she said, leaning over to unlock the passenger side door. "Get  
in."

She was quiet as he hobbled around to the other side of the car. She  
knew her face was burning, and she was extremely relieved that it was  
dark outside. She didn't want to give him any excuse to take a  
jab at her. She just wasn't in the mood.

The drive to House's apartment was completely silent. "Thank  
goodness it's only 5 minutes," Alison thought to herself, willing  
traffic lights to change colors so she could shave a few more seconds off the  
trip.

As she pulled up to the building, House was already pushing the door  
open. She didn't even look at him as he started to swing his  
feet out of the car onto the street. Too late, she realized the end of his  
cane was looped right in the shoulder strap of the purse. As House  
pulled the cane out of the car to help him stand, he pulled the whole  
purse out with it. To Alison's horror, the purse fell to the  
street, spilling its contents at Dr. Gregory House's feet—gift-wrapped present and all.

"Sorry," he said unabashedly as he leaned over to put her  
things back in the purse.

She nodded mutely, facing forward, hands gripping the steering wheel,  
afraid that he would—

"What's this?" Gregory House, MD saw the little package  
on the asphalt, next to a powder compact and a pocket-sized hairbrush.

"What's what?" Alison asked, knowing her voice sounded  
shrill in the darkness.

"This." House picked up the present and swiveled in his  
seat, holding it up so she could see it.

Alison knew she couldn't lie. She fought the urge to sigh, not  
wanting to appear defeated in front of him. "It was something I  
made for your birthday," she started, pausing to catch her breath, and  
continued, "but it seemed like you didn't think it was a big  
deal, so I thought I'd just give it to you later or something." She  
knew it sounded lame, but she didn't know what to say.

House stared at her for several seconds, rubbing his thumb over the  
delicate paper. "Thanks," he said quietly, stepping out of  
the car and turning around to face her. "See you tomorrow?" he  
asked, holding the package carefully in his left hand as his right gripped the cane  
tightly.

"Yeah," she whispered, nodding slightly. "See you  
tomorrow." And before he could shut the door, she said, "Dr. House?"

"Yes?" he replied, leaning down and pinning her with his  
gaze.

Beautiful eyes. "I meant what I said earlier today."

"What was that?"

"Happy birthday."

He nodded briefly, and shut the door. She drove away, hardly daring  
to glance backward, momentarily afraid that he might be tossing the  
gift unopened into the gutter. She wanted to cry.

Greg House followed the little car with his eyes until it made a right  
at the next corner, vanishing into the night. He looked down with  
slight suspicion at the wrapped present, momentarily afraid that it  
might be something extremely personal—like her favorite book of  
poems, signed on the inside with some sappy letter about how she loved the  
one on page blah blah blah.

He shook his head. Inwardly, he wouldn't have minded that so  
much. She tried so hard sometimes…no, there was no point in even  
thinking about Cameron in that respect. She could never be anything more to  
him than a coworker. Even if he wanted her to be.

He read the card first, then put it away. Typical Cameron. Slowly,  
deftly, his nimble fingers worked around the blue bow to the silver  
paper. He cut the tape on the package with a thumbnail, unwilling to  
rip the packaging that she had so willingly wrapped for him.

When he saw the photograph, he felt a sudden tightening in his chest.  
For a quick second, he thought he might be having a heart attack.  
Then he realized it was just emotion. Dr. Gregory House was actually  
touched. He turned to walk into his building, clutching the small  
picture in his left hand, against his chest.

The picture sitting on his desk, beside his computer, was the first  
thing Alison Cameron noticed as she entered his office the next  
morning to drop off his mail at 8:00am. She sighed, contentedly this  
time, as she turned and set off to see her patients. It was going to  
be a nice day.


End file.
